Page 9 of Oops Baby for the Rockstar (Oops Baby #2)

Eight

Tamsin

A thousand thoughts buzz around my skull as I help push case after case over to the open trucks.

Stuff like pregnancy logistics, and how does child support work, and where can I make a prenatal doctor’s appointment while on tour?

How much do nappies cost? What foods shouldn’t I eat for the next six months?

How long can I keep working, and what happens when I can’t anymore?

Will they kick me off the crew bus? I do not want to go back to that trailer in the hills.

Stuff like: where is Jett, and has he read my letter yet?

What does he think about it? Is he mad at me for getting pregnant, for being so careless on my first time?

And then: if he is mad at me for that, he’s a giant hypocrite.

There were two of us in that hotel room; two of us getting swept away by the moment.

We’re both the architects of this little predicament.

Stuff like: does Jett Santana even want to be a dad? Would he ever settle down; tone down the rock star lifestyle? Would he come to peewee baseball games or ballet recitals? Can I really do this all alone if not? Would I be enough?

Even stuff like: where is the nearest place I can track down an egg mayo sandwich, and will they be open this late at night?

A figure barrels out of the darkness, grabbing my flight case from the other side and planting themselves in the way. I push feebly against their bulk, but it’s like a kitten nudging at a panther.

“Hey!”

Then my brain catches up with my eyes. My heart stutters inside my chest, racing faster and faster until I feel like I’m gonna levitate right off this grass and zoom away toward the heavens.

“Tamsin,” Jett says, his voice low and intimate.

Even just the way he says my name feels like a caress.

The rock star is staring at me, dark eyes fierce in the moonlight, but he doesn’t look mad.

Doesn’t look like he’s about to yell or rage or demand a paternity test. He looks elated. “There you are.”

My lips are numb as I press them together. My palms are damp inside my baggy work gloves.

“Did… did you read my letter?”

Jett nods slowly, still gazing hungrily at me. “I did.”

I blow out a breath. “So you know everything now.”

Jett raises one thick eyebrow. “Not everything, apparently. You didn’t mention that you’re working on the Wishbone crew.”

Ah. Yeah. That was one last secret, one last piece of the puzzle that I held back, because I wasn’t sure how Jett would take the oops-baby news. And what if he got mad and tossed me off the tour altogether, and I didn’t have anywhere to live or any more cash coming in?

I need to be smart. I’m protecting two of us now.

Plus I wanted an excuse to stay close. To keep Jett Santana, the world famous rock star, in my orbit. Sue me.

“I’m sorry,” I say as we gaze into each other’s eyes, because yeah, I should have known better.

Shouldn’t have been so paranoid, always bracing for the worst from people, because Jett is not like that.

We only spent a few short hours in each other’s company before now, but it was enough. I know him.

Jett scoffs and finally straightens up, letting go of my case.

He rounds the side of it and scoops me against his chest, pressing his face against the top of my head.

All around us, the crew keep pushing cases toward the trucks, the heavy weights trundling over the grass.

There are shouts and slams over by the loading area, and the rhythmic clang of hammers on metal, but the leafy park still smells like fresh earth and wet rocks.

“Don’t be sorry, baby. But don’t hide from me ever again. Christ, I’ve been going mad.”

My fingers curl against the rock star’s chest.

“Me too.”

“I’ve been declaring my love every night like some love-struck asshole.”

“I heard. I’m sorry.”

Jett snorts. “No, don’t be sorry about that either. I am a love-struck asshole.”

My laugh is kinda gooey, because I’m sniffling like a champ, burying deeper and deeper into Jett’s arms. Now that I’m here, that feeling of safety is coasting through me again, relaxing my tensed-up muscles and calming my racing pulse.

How the hell did I find the strength to leave the hotel room that morning? How could I bring myself to leave this behind?

“This is it, though, right?” Jett squeezes me gently, and presses a long kiss to the crown of my head. His breath is hot against my scalp, and my low belly quivers. “Tell me this is it, Tams. We’re together from now on. No more secrets or misunderstandings.”

“This is it,” I agree, even though my throat is so tight with emotion that I can barely speak. Is this really happening? Does he really still want me, even after everything? How did I ever get so lucky?

Unless…

A sudden cold shiver runs down my spine, and I force myself to peel away from Jett and step back. It’s fully night out here now, but the stars and moon are bright enough that I can make out his handsome, troubled face as he frowns at me.

“What?” Jett says, his tone laced with dread. “What’s wrong?”

How can I ask this? How can I find the words without breaking my own heart?

“Do you…”

It takes me a few seconds to gather my courage. To firm my shoulders and raise my chin. It’s all fake, of course, because my insides are quailing, but my voice is steady as I ask: “Are you sure you still want me ? And not just the baby?”

Jett glowers, his eyebrows slamming down, but I force myself to keep going, even though each word bruises me.

“Because you can pick and choose. You can do all the dad stuff, without taking me back too. I won’t… you don’t have to have us both, if you don’t want that.”

“Tamsin,” Jett says, and it’s the first time I’ve heard him actually sound mad. My pulse skitters in response. “That’s the biggest steaming pile of bullshit I’ve ever heard.”

I light up brighter than the moon. “Really?”

Jett rolls his eyes. “Come here.”

The rock star moves without warning, swinging me up into his arms, bridal style. I let out a squeal, then wave off the crew guys when some of them look over, concerned. “I’m good,” I call. “This is a consensual kidnapping.”

“You bet it is.” Carrying me easily against his chest, Jett stomps away from the trucks and the lights and the people, heading into the velvety darkness of the city park. “And you’re done lugging heavy shit around for the next six months, baby. Done forever, if I have any say in the matter.”

I grin into the crook of his neck, inhaling that spice and leather scent. “We’ll see. Maybe I’ll try actually photographing one of your shows. I bet there’s something useful I can do around here. Something I can be.”

“‘Course there is.” Jett steps over a fallen log, carrying us away from the open grass and into the trees. Small twigs snap beneath his boots, and the breeze whispers through the canopy above. “You’re my fluffer.”

I punch his shoulder, laughing.

“Okay, wife,” Jett amends, teeth gleaming from his shit-eating grin. “You’ll be the mother of my child, my fluffer, and my wife. And whatever the hell else you want to be.”

His wife?

I have never been this incandescently happy.

“That’s sweet.” A gasp escapes my lips as Jett stops without warning, setting me down and pressing me back against a tree.

It’s so familiar, so reminiscent of that brick wall he first kissed me against, that the world tilts as my arms loop around his neck.

Deja vu thrums through me, mysterious and wild.

“And what are you doing, carrying your future wife into the woods like a caveman?”

“What do you think?” Jett’s mouth curves against my neck as he kisses the tickly spot beneath my ear.

“I’m gonna fuck her until she admits that she’s mine.

I’m gonna ruin her for other men, starting now.

And I’m gonna play a little game with myself, one called: Make Tamsin Scream My Name in Public. ”

“That’s a really specific game,” I say, body arching toward Jett as he flicks the top button of my jeans open and drags the zipper down. I’m putty in his hands, leaning up for a deep, drugging kiss, then spinning happily when he turns me to brace my palms against the tree.

Heat blooms over my skin, and each rustle of my clothes, each tickle of breeze feels so intense already. I’m wound tight, my body taut with longing after three months apart from this man.

I want him to use me.

Want him to own me. To lay claim to every inch of my body, and to wring his own name from my tongue.

Biting my bottom lip, I make a private vow: I won’t make it easy for him. I’m gonna fight every urge to cry out, gonna keep quiet as long as I can, so the rock star has to work for it. So many things come easy for the rich and famous, but I won’t be one of them.

The sounds of the crew are faint in the distance. We’re all alone here, in the privacy of this small wood, and for a mad moment, I feel like Red Riding Hood, cornered by the big, bad wolf, his panting breath hot on the back of my neck. About to be devoured.

“Ready?” Jett rasps against my ear, his hands sliding up and down my sides. I fight a whimper, already soaked and swollen in my underwear, and press my ass back against him.

Am I ready? I’ve been waiting non-stop for the last three months. I’ve been dying for this, squirming and desperate and unfulfilled. Of course I’m freaking—

“Ready,” I grit out. “Do your worst.”